I, like most New Yorkers, do my very best to avoid the homeless like the plague (that they must undoubtedly have). So while walking down Greenpoint Avenue the other day, I saw a hobo walking towards me - much to my surprise. Anywhere else in New York and I wouldn’t have thought much of it, but this was Queens and we don’t see much of their kind in these parts. It’s simply not prime hobo real-estate – largely due to the fact that most of us are just one high electric bill away from living on the streets ourselves.
We were only a matter of seconds away from crossing each other’s paths, and I knew that he was going to bother me. If I had a sixth sense, it would be sensing when hobos were about to annoy me. It’s almost as if I can smell it coming - which is to say; i can smell it coming. I had just had a horrible day at work, and believe-you-me, I was in no mood. I started strategizing my escape route. Putting my ipod on is my usual go-to, but much to my chagrin, I had left my iPod at work.
I thought about pulling out my cell phone and pretending like someone had just called me, but it was in my gym bag and I doubted I could fish it out in time. I contemplated crossing the street, but the hobo was rapidly approaching, and this would require me to dart into on coming traffics. It was a toss up, but I reluctantly decided that my best approach would just be to ignore him. I know it’s horrible to treat another human in need as if they were invisible, but I had really had the worst day. To start things off, I had spilled my vegetable shake on my new shirt, and as if that wasn’t enough, the flatbread piada I ordered for lunch had come without the extra Tuscan sauce I had requested.
As the homeless man approached, he (as I had predicted) approached me.
“Hey…” he said.
I kept my head down, avoiding making eye contact, and picked up my pace.
“Hey…” He said again, getting progressively louder.
“Hey!” He shouted. Now we were side by side. I walked faster, relieved that it would soon be over. I quickly passed him and was well on my way down the block. In the corner of my eye I could see that he had stopped and was looking back at me.
“Hey.” He said. “I like your haircut.”
3 comments:
My favorite story!
I wish you weren't a liar.
Was it a new haircut? Were you on your way to have Jagger bombs?
your gym bag?
i call lies on this post.
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